He’d been where I was, even if his time spent in jail had been for a series of shorter stints. He’d struggled with drugs for much of his youth and had finally gotten clean right before I came to live with him. He’d put up with me when he didn’t have to, and while he might not have been equipped to deal with an angry, grieving, troubled teenager when he was only just getting his own life together, he’d done what he could. He’d put a roof over my head and food on the table, and I’d “repaid” his generosity by being a total fuckup.

And here I was living the consequences. I tapped the table with the envelope in my hand, my heart giving a small jolt when I caught sight of the return label. I tore open the flap and pulled out the Christmas card from the Swansons. The shiny front featured a colorful rendition of Santa, and on the inside, it had a generic printed greeting under which Mrs. Swanson had written: Merry Christmas, Tuck. Thinking of you this holiday season and wishing you well. Let us know if you’re ever in the area. We’d love to see you. Love, Jena and Phil.

I placed the card down on the table. They’d sent me a Christmas card every year since I’d moved away, even when I’d been in prison. They must have heard that I’d been released. Shame wound through me. Jena had been my mom’s best friend. It must hurt her to know how devastated my mom would have been had she lived—

The chair legs scraped across the tile as I stood and then headed for the living room. But I paused in the doorway, the kernel of an idea making me turn, my gaze landing on Santa’s jolly grin. I took the few steps back to the table and picked up the card and the envelope, staring at that return address, the one I’d once known as well as my own.

chapter five

Tuck

I stood on the other side of the road, staring at the place that had been a second home to me.

It was barely recognizable.

Swanson Groves still featured the same gate, with a white house in the distance, but instead of the seemingly never-ending rows of orange trees that had once stretched from their home to ours, there was now only a handful of trees. The rest had been mowed down to make room for square, nondistinct tract houses and what looked like a mall in the distance. A hole inside me gaped wide, an old wound made up of anger, bitterness, resentment…hate. I’d spent so many years convincing myself I’d moved on from those feelings, but I obviously hadn’t, because in one unexpected moment, they poured forth.